The nights are getting longer and darker.
In a few weeks we will be resetting the clocks to “Fall Back”, confirming that the run up to Thanksgiving will have begun. These nights do seem to be darker than summer nights; even when crystal clear skies offer the galaxy in review; even when the harvest moon hangs low and huge over the pastures and valleys.
“…The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow, gave a luster of midday to objects below…” On such a night, I cannot help but recall these words. And yet it’s too soon for snow. And yet – even with moonbeams lighting the way, these October nights seem darker. I half expect the headless horseman to come galloping out from within the depths of the forest, onto the open meadow.
Still, I love fall nights.
I love sitting in the rocker overlooking Mohonk Lake, listening to the plethora of night sounds emanating from within the cave-climbs on the opposite side of the water’s edge. I hear wisps of spoken words, as a group of young folks meander around the lake’s edge, enjoying each other and the night-hush. I hear hums and purrs and owl-hoots, as I can only imagine from whence they come.
I smell the wood burning in the fireplaces of the old mansion, inhale deeply and wrap myself up a little tighter in my knitted throw. And I rock, and I listen, and I envelop myself in the glorious, cacophonous silence.
Written for NaBloPoMo October: